I'm Betting On You, Unfortunately
by Jayfish
Summary: A bet, a bunch of hot countries, and a perfectly happy single girl.  What could go wrong?  A lot, when the bet involves the hot countries seducing the single girl, who may or may not be falling in love...  with the judge.  EnglandxOC, JapanxOC.
1. Poor Samantha Quarius

**My first Hetalia fanfic! *celebrates**

**Well, that's pretty much all I had to say. Review and tell me what you think! **

**Love, the Jayfish :)**

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><p>Samantha Quarius hated slow people.<p>

Which was why she was storming ahead up the sidewalk, letting her best friend, Jeremy Sinda, jog to catch up with her. His pale cheeks were flushed when he did finally make it to her side, and he snagged her shoulder, dragging her to a halt while he caught his breath. Samantha rolled her eyes, tapping the toe of one of her signature black combat boots hard against the ground. The Foot Tap, as it was widely known amongst Samantha's friends and enemies, was almost as old as Samantha herself and her ultimate expression of disapproval. The tips of both of her boots were worn away from the near-constant tapping, but in her opinion, it was worth it.

Jeremy straightened, spiky black hair in a disarray. "Jesus, Sam, you didn't have to make me chase you for three blocks!"

Samantha shrugged coolly. "I was angry at you," she said. "And I'm still mad, so I wouldn't be talking to me if I were you."

Jeremy ignored the comment. "I still don't get why you're angry," he whined. "I was just pointing out your lack of a love life-…"

"Like you have one, you hypocrite."

"Not true," Jeremy retorted immediately. "I've got this great online thing going on right now." He smiled fondly. "Hopefully I'm going to get to meet him soon," he said wistfully. "Chatting with J1234_567 online just isn't the same as talking with him in real life!"

Samantha snorted. "Just make sure he's not fifty years old first, alright?" Jeremy laughed.

"I've seen pictures, and let me tell you, this kid is _hot_."

"Kid? He's younger than you?"

"Nah. He looks sixteen."

Samantha rolled her eyes, turning and heading into the busy flow of human bodies streaming down the sidewalk. Jeremy caught her arm again, and she turned to him, chocolate-brown eyes flaming. "You're really pushing it, Sinda," she snapped, tapping her foot.

"I'm sure," Jeremy said. "Anyway…"

"What? Did you have something to tell me?"

"Not really," Jeremy admitted, shifting from foot to foot. He looked uncharacteristically guilty now, for some reason. And then a mischievous grin popped onto his face, and his black eyes glinted with mischief. "Yeah," he said. "I really didn't have anything to say to you. Except for this: I bet you that your love life will be getting a lot better soon!" With a cheerful wave, the boy turned and headed into the crowd of commuters, tossing his black scarf cheerfully over his shoulders.

Samantha stood watching him for a minute, before a tiny grin graced her pale features. "Moron," she muttered, and slipped into the crowd.

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><p>It didn't take long for the crowd of commuters to thin out, until Samantha was walking by herself. She shrugged her shoulders and pulled up her leather jacket, brushing it fondly. She didn't exactly remember when she'd gotten the jacket, but it was her pride and joy. She loved it almost as much as she loved her combat boots, and definitely more than a lot of the people she knew.<p>

She'd walked into the shadier part of town; she had to if she wanted to get home. Generally this wasn't a problem for Samantha, as she looked much too mean for anyone to cross her. Still, no one was around, and it wouldn't hurt to be careful. She increased her pace; fixing a scowl on her face that would no doubt ward off any would-be attackers.

She heard the man before she saw him. There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and suddenly they broke into a run. Samantha would not have been worried, but they seemed to be coming from behind her, and more importantly, they appeared to be getting closer to her with every step. She balled a fist and half-turned, and shrieked in surprise as someone lunged into her back, grabbing her around the waist and slamming her against the ground.

"What the hell!" she snapped, wriggling, but the person was now clasping her to his chest and wouldn't let her go.

"I have found you!" he was saying, sounding incredibly proud of himself. He looked suspiciously Italian to Samantha, and he seemed strangely happy for some inexplicable reason.

"Get off me!" she protested, and he seemed to actually acknowledge her for the first time.

"Oh, you are unhappy?" His face immediately fell. "Oh no! We've started out on the wrong foot!" He released her, scooting away, and she glared at him.

"What the _hell _is wrong with you?" she snapped, glowering at him. "Are you insane? Do you think it's okay to just run at people on the street?"

"Well, I…"

"Shut it. Did you think that you knew me or something, pretty boy? Because I sure as hell don't know you! In fact, I- what the hell is that?"

The now trembling questionably Italian man was holding a piece of paper in his hand. The picture quality wasn't very good, but it was unmistakably her in the picture, eating a donut and glaring at the camera. Underneath the picture, in bold letters, was her name, **Samantha Quarius**. Her breath caught in her throat and she snatched it away from the Italian. "Who gave you this?"

"E-E-E-England," the Italian stammered. She looked up from the paper.

"England. Are you saying that an entire _country _gave you this paper? What are you, a spy or something?"

"No!" the man protested, shaking his head vehemently. "Germany says that I am a worthless spy! I'm not a spy, Miss Quarius! Please don't eat me!"

"Germany? What are you talking about?" She glared at the shivering man in the center of the sidewalk and rolled her eyes. "Oh, forget it. I'm going home."

"Wait!" the man protested, grabbing her ankle. She froze.

"Oh, no," she hissed. "You did _not _just grab my boot." The Italian looked at his hand confusedly.

"Yes, I did," he said, holding up her ankle for emphasis. "See?"

She groaned. "I was being sarcastic, moron," she said, pulling free. _"Goodbye._" There was a moment of silence, and then a wail came from behind her.

"Wait!" the Italian cried, latching onto her legs and bringing her down. "P-please don't go!"

"What is _with _you?" she shrieked, trying to extricate herself from the man. He wasn't as weak as she'd thought, unfortunately. "And get off me!"

"Not until you promise to love me!" the man blubbered, shaking his head for emphasis. That one shut Samantha up.

"Um… what was that?"

"You have to say that you love me," the man said. "Then I'll let you go."

She stared at him, and narrowed her eyes. "There better be an explanation for this," she hissed, glaring. The Italian swallowed hastily.

"Oh, of course there is!" he said, holding up his hands. "Don't get angry, Miss Quarius! You're scary when you're angry…"

"GET TO THE POINT!"

"Yes ma'am," he squeaked, quailing under her ferocious gaze. "Well, you see, Germany brought beer to the last World Conference…"

"Germany," Samantha interrupted. "What the hell do you mean by that?" The Italian looked at her oddly.

"_Germany_," he said, emphasizing it. "The country."

"So an entire country brought beer to your meeting? What?"

"No, no, no," Italy said, shaking his hands. "Germany the _person_. He brought beer."

_Germany the person? Who names their kid Germany?_

"… and then we all got very drunk," the Italian was saying, completely oblivious to the fact that she'd stopped listening to him. "And I don't remember what happened after that, but when I woke up; England was waving this in my face and telling me about a bet!"

"England? You know what, forget it. Just tell the damn story."

"He said that I had signed a sheet of paper for a bet," the man said emphatically. "I didn't mean to sign it, but you know… alcohol." He flushed guiltily. "Anyway, England told me the rules and gave me this sheet of paper, and then I went to find you! And I got you first!"

Samantha shook her head. "What do you mean, first? Are there _more _of you coming after me?"

The man nodded. "Lots," he said, happily.

She got to her feet. "You're crazy," she announced, turning. "I'm out. Bother me again, and I'll beat the crap out of you." Her boots clacking against the pavement, she sped away.

But not fast enough, it seemed. She heard the Italian man giving a heroic cry and felt him crashing into her back, and then she pitched forward, slamming her forehead into concrete. Dazedly, her eyes rolled sideways until she saw the Italian, looking confused and apologetic. Her vision blurred, and she ground her teeth as it faded away completely. Her last thought floated in the darkness for a while before it too vanished: _How the hell did this happen?_

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><p><em>3 Days Ago<em>

Japan glanced at the screen, dark eyes watering. He'd been typing for a long time now, simply enjoying the strange but interesting relationship that had cropped up on an online dating website he'd found. "GayNProud" was fun to talk to, and he seemed to be interested in Japan. Japan thought that was strange; he never thought he could be good at relationships, but this one seemed to be working out well.

There was the sound of muffled screaming from the other side of the door, and he huffed. The World Conference was no doubt about to convene, and he was not interested this year. Not that he was ever interested, but he'd never been having an interesting conversation with a potential… well, boyfriend, online before.

_**I have to go, **_he typed, unhappily. _**The meeting's about to start.**_

_**Roflmao**_, Jeremy replied, apparently not being too upset. Japan flushed. He'd already started making something out to be bigger than it really was… although Jeremy _had _told him his name, whereas Japan… Well, explaining these things to an ordinary human could get a little bit confusing. Needless to say, somewhere along the line people had stopped caring about the personifications of their countries. It drove America nuts, being ignored like that, but Japan liked it. People had stopped stopping him on the street and asking him for his autograph, and that was definitely nice.

_**Soo… **_Jeremy typed._** Umm, this meeting is with ur hot guy friends, right?**_

_**Yes, **_Japan responded, flushing again.

_**Roflmao, **_Jeremy said again, for emphasis. _**I kinda got this idea… It's about my friend. **_

_**Yes? **_Japan asked, questioningly.

_**Wellz, do you think ur friends would be interested in… I don't know, giving her a shot? She never says it, but I think she's lonely.**_

_**I don't know, **_Japan said honestly. _**I don't think many of them would… **_

_**Humph, **_Jeremy responded, adding a cute little emoticon at the end that made Japan giggle. He blushed, again. Since when did he giggle? It was silly, and it showed much more emotion than he generally felt comfortable with. Of course, chatting with Jeremy made him show and feel a wide range of emotions. It was strange.

_**Anyhoo, **_Jeremy continued. _**I kinda figured that. Which is why I made this idea. **_Another emoticon popped up, and Japan smiled faintly. _**So, what if there was some kind of bet? Like, they had to ask her out or something.**_

_**A bet?**_

_**Yeah. Like, something horrible would happen to them if they didn't. And then, they'd all have to meet at the end and she'd have to pick the one she liked the best, like on the bachelorette. God, I luv that show… How about the winner would have to get a ton of money from the losers? And there'd have to be a penalty…**_

_**How long have you been working on this? **_Japan added an emoticon this time, a cute little face with crinkly eyes. He hoped that Jeremy enjoyed it, wherever he was.

_**Lol, **_Jeremy responded, after a moment. _**A long time. Hold on a sec, let me upload something. **_There was a five-minute lapse, and then a picture of a girl and a name popped up on screen. _Samantha Quarius, _Japan thought.

_**And… yeah, **_Jeremy finished. _**Do you think you could do that? Get them to all sign on?**_

_**I don't know. Most of them will simply say no.**_

_**Is there gonna be alcohol at this meeting?**_

_**… Maybe.**_

_**I say no more; I'll leave the rest to you. If you do it. Will you do it? Pleeeeaaaassseee?**_

_It seems like a bad idea, _Japan thought, and suddenly a picture of a crushed-looking Jeremy popped into his head. He winced.

_**Alright, **_he typed. _**You must really care for your friend.**_

A smiley emoticon appeared. _**I love her. Even though she's an idiot and apparently can't find a man for herself.**_

Japan nodded at the screen, determined. He would do this, to prove his love for Jeremy. Maybe he'd even give away his name after.

_**Alright, see you soon, **_he typed hurriedly, already printing out the picture of the girl. She looked very mean, to be honest. The other countries would be upset, of course, but technically this was Jeremy's fault, not his. It was stupid, but he'd done stupid things before. World War Two, for example; that had been stupid. He snatched at the printing papers, turning off the computer, and hurried from the room.

He had drinks to spike.

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><p>Lichtenstein didn't want to admit it, but her wonderful big brother was very, very drunk.<p>

He was talking to Austria, for one. That was something that never happened. Austria appeared to be just as drunk, if not more so. He had actually slung his arm around Switzerland in a comradely fashion, and Switzerland hadn't beaten him off yet. Strange.

Lichtenstein herself was not yet drunk, as Japan hadn't spiked her drink. She'd seen him doing it, but she hadn't said anything; she'd been shy. It was now clear that the quiet country was up to something, because he'd come back with some sort of paper and was going up to a host of countries, apparently asking them to sign. She sighed and shook her head as an exuberant Switzerland snatched Japan's pen and added his signature to the list, Austria following close behind. She didn't like to think badly of her older brother, but today he was acting like a bit of an idiot.

"C-cool party, h-huh?" Lichtenstein turned and sighed. A very, very drunk England was grinning at her, eyes completely bloodshot and a crazed grin on his face.

"It's not really a party, England," she muttered, but he ignored her.

"What's Japan doing, huh?" England asked, starting forward and tripping over his own feet. Lichtenstein moved away quietly, and jumped at the sight of Japan holding the piece of paper in front of England's nose.

"Sign, please," he said quietly, looking as though he wished to be anywhere else.

England looked up confusedly. "W-what's that, huh?" he asked, making a drunken grab for the paper. He missed by a mile.

Japan sighed deeply. "Sign, please," he said again. England's bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown.

"No!" he complained, suddenly angry. "I will not sign something without knowing what it is! I will not!"

"England…"

"No!"

"Alright! Please be quiet!" Japan hushed him, looking around furtively. "If you don't want to sign, how about you be the judge? Would you like that?"

England shrugged, slipping on his feet again and falling flat on his face. "Yeah!" he crowed, falling into a puddle of his own drool.

Japan wrinkled his nose, turning away. "We'll discuss this when you are not so drunk…" he muttered. Lichtenstein swallowed; now was her chance to find out what was going on! Mustering her courage, she grabbed Japan by the sleeve.

"Excuse me," she stammered, looking at the ground. "But what's going on? Why are you putting Germany's beer in everyone's drinks, Japan?"

Japan gulped. "Look," he said, stabbing a finger at his paper. It was covered in signatures already; from what Lichtenstein could see, at least seven countries had already signed, not counting Austria and Switzerland. "You see, I have a… friend, whose friend needs help. He thinks that she's lonely, so he wanted me to get some of the other countries to sign a paper."

"What did they agree to do?"

Japan looked at the floor. "They agreed that the one country that could get Samantha Quarius to fall in love with them gets the equivalent of 50,000 dollars from all of the losers, and… well; I had to think of a penalty…" He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to escape.

But Lichtenstein had to press him. "What was it, Mr. Japan?"

He sighed. "All of the losers have to wear a shirt I made for them."

"A shirt? That doesn't sound so bad."

Japan shuddered. "The shirt… It says, 'Five Dollars a Night' on the front, and 'Only Services Ages Sixty and Up' on the back. And they have to wear it every day for a month. In a public setting." He closed his eyes tightly. "I am so ashamed!" he moaned. "Doing this to my fellow countries. It is wrong. Wrong!"

With that said, he wandered off to ensnare a completely unsuspecting and totally drunk Canada.

Lichtenstein shook her head. _My poor big brother, _she thought. _I guess things are going to be more interesting from now on. _With a tiny smile, she snuck after Japan. He'd be doing something cool for sure.

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><p><em>Present<em>

Samantha's head hurt quite a bit more than she expected when she finally did wake up.

It throbbed in time to her heart, which was pounding. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but no doubt when she did she'd be in a basement, chained to the wall, or something equally creepy.

No point in putting it off. Swallowing hard, Samantha opened her eyes.

To her surprise, and horror, she was not in a basement, as she'd been expecting. No, she was in a bedroom, and although it was thankfully empty, it was the wall color that was bothering Samantha. Bright, garish pink. She tried not to cringe. Hideous color, pink. Whoever had painted this room clearly had no taste.

She tried to move and blinked dazedly. Narrowing her eyes, she jangled her wrists. "Okay, who the hell tied me up?" she complained, straining her wrists and ankles against the ropes. There was no response. "Hello? Italian dude?" Nothing. _"Freaky kidnapper asshole!" _she screamed, and the door burst open.

It was the Italian, unsurprisingly. The surprising part was the flowers he had in one hand, the steaming bowl of pasta in the other, and the guitar slung over his back on a strap, as well as the fancy dinner jacket he had on. "_Buongiorno!_" he cried, upon seeing her. "You're awake!"

"No thanks to you," Samantha said, glaring at him. "What the hell is going on? _Why did you kidnap me?_"

"Allow me to explain." The one speaking hadn't been the Italian. Both of them jumped at the voice from the doorway, as a green-eyed, blonde-haired man in a suit strode in, smiling evilly. "The name's England," he said, sounding professional, "and I am the official judge."

"England?" The Italian flinched. "Who made you the judge? And how did you get here?"

"Why Japan made me judge, of course," England said, sounding smug. "Because, unlike you twits, I didn't sign the sheet. So now I have to be here; to judge."

"Pardon me for interrupting," Samantha said, sarcastically, of course. "Could somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Righto," England said, nodding emphatically. He cleared his throat. "You, Samantha Quarius," he began, "have been selected to take part in the biggest bet between countries of the century!"

"Countries?"

England nodded. "Countries, or the personifications of the landmasses on which you live. I am England; this is Italy." The Italian waved like an idiot.

Samantha stared. "You're crazy," she said, in a hushed voice. "Bonkers. Completely out of your heads."

"No," England began, and then glanced at Italy. "Well, _I'm _not, at least."

Samantha felt her usual anger bubbling to the surface. "Just you wait," she said, darkly. "As soon as I break these ropes, I'm going to find a phone, and then I'd like to see you escape the police, you psychos!"

England looked amused. "If you mean the American police, then I doubt it. We're in Germany."

Samantha's jaw dropped. "…Germany?" she asked weakly. Italy nodded.

"Nobody said I couldn't!" he sang, dancing around. "I'm going to win the bet, tra-la-la!"

"WHAT BET?" Italy stopped dancing, and his jaw dropped.

"You're angry," he realized.

"Of course she's angry, you git," England said nonchalantly. "You kidnapped her with no provocation. You didn't really think about this very hard, did you?"

Italy's eyes filled with tears. "Well, not really, but I didn't think she'd be upset about it! Please don't be angry, Miss Quarius, I've got so much more left to do in life! I'm still a virgin; you wouldn't kill a virgin, would you? You couldn't be that evil, right? No, nobody could be so mindlessly cruel! But just in case…" He whipped out a handkerchief and began waving it around frantically. "I surrender! Please don't kill meee!"

She glowered at him. "You," she snapped, looking at England. "Just tell me what's happening."

England grinned evilly. "With pleasure. Like I said before, you, Samantha Quarius, have been selected to take part in the biggest bet between countries of the century!" He paused, most likely for dramatic effect. "You see what Italy's wearing, correct?" She opened her mouth to affirm but he cut her off. "Of course you do. Now, can you guess why Italy is wearing a fancy dinner jacket and has flowers, pasta, and a guitar?"

Feeling like a contestant on some sort of twisted game show, Samantha shrugged. "Um, no? Why does this matter, anyway?" Her foot had started to tap, making England clear his throat uncomfortably. Italy had slowly started backing away; the foot could be quite menacing.

"The details of the bet are simple," England said. "In three months, all the countries involved in the bet are going to convene, and then you have to pick one; the one that you liked the best. Well, I should really say _loved _the best, because the whole point of this is for you to fall in love with one of them."

Samantha stared. Her foot slowly stopped tapping, and her face went white. Slowly, a smile curled up her cheeks. It was the kind of smile that scared the hell out of anyone who saw it, and for good reason. "In love, you say?" she asked, suspiciously sweetly.

If England or Italy had known her at all, they would have known that it was time to retreat. Unfortunately for them, they actually had the audacity to approach her. "It isn't really that bad," England began to say, and was stopped, presumably noticing that Samantha was playing with a lock of her auburn hair, ropes discarded on the floor. Her smile grew sharper.

"Told you I'd break them," she said, grinning like a demon. She cracked her knuckles. "Now, you guys have two choices: either you're going to take me home, and _fast, _or I'm going to have to resort to drastic measures." She curled her hands into fists.

Italy's bottom lip quivered. "Do you want some pasta?" he asked, pathetically. Samantha's eye twitched.

"I DO NOT WANT PASTA, YOU IDIOTIC EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING! I WANT TO GO HOME! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? HOME!"

"Retreat!" Italy wailed, backtracking out of the room and slamming the door, locking in England with a very angry Samantha Quarius. She started to get to her feet, and yelped as her ankles strained against ropes she had unfortunately forgotten to unwind.

"Crap!" she shrieked. "Foiled…" England appeared to be smirking, and she growled. "DON'T LAUGH AT ME!" she screeched, flopping forward like a fish and reaching for his ankle. He jumped away hurriedly.

"No need for that! You bloody wanker…" he added, under his breath. Putting a foot out, he pressed it against her forehead, keeping her from coming forward. "Look," he said. "There's no need for you to be scaring Italy. He's doing his best, you know."

She glared at him. "How is tying me up and dragging me halfway across the world 'his best'?"

England shrugged. "Italy's an idiot," he said. "Anyway, as the judge, I'm here to make sure you don't get _too _badly beaten up, so you can relax. And trying to escape would be bad, because I can guarantee that there are other countries out looking for you. You'd rather be with Italy than Russia." He shuddered.

Ignoring the fact that this strange "England" man was still talking about countries, Samantha let out a huff of air. "Why me?" she asked. "Why'd I get stuck with the crazy people after me?"

England looked mystified. "Crazy? How am I crazy?"

"…You think you're a country?"

England sighed, shaking his head. "Will you ever believe us?"

Samantha thought about it. "Nope. Because you're crazy."

England sighed. "Whatever. The point here is that in a few minutes Italy will probably come back in here with chocolate, and maybe this time you shouldn't try to kill him. Or it might be Germany; the idiot got drunk off his own beer and signed up for the bet too!" He chuckled. "So, what do you say?"

Samantha grimaced. "I'm going to kill him," she said. England sighed yet again.

"Well, you're a twat," he admitted, grabbing her by the shoulders and tossing her back on the bed. "Have fun untying yourself, Quarius. I'll be outside, making sure Italy doesn't come up with some brilliant plan to get you to fall in love with him that involves some sort of mass destruction."

"Is that likely?"

"Very." England opened the door with a flourish, and looked back at her. "One more thing. I would be nice to Germany, if I were you. He hates dissent." With that helpful parting hint, England left the room, locking it behind him.

Samantha stared at the closed door for a moment before untying the ropes around her ankles and looking at the door with a face of contemplation. _So England doesn't want me to escape, huh? _She grinned. _Well then, it looks as though that's the first thing I'm going to be doing. _She rubbed her hands together evilly. Screw Italy and his pasta.

She was busting out.

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><p><strong>Blehh. What didja think? Why don't you tell me? *waves hands enticingly around the review button.* Come on, you know you want to!<strong>


	2. Grenades are Fun!

**Hey guys!**

**I actually got a lot of reviews on the first chapter, which I really appreciate. Thanks, everybody!**

**Also, in case you might have noticed, I tend to update slowly; around once every two weeks. I sometimes update more, but... Anyway, I'm not going to abandon this story so never fear! (You probably weren't afraid; whatever...)**

**I should stop talking. Enjoy chapter two!**

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><p>Escaping wasn't going to be easy, but Samantha was pretty sure she could handle it.<p>

She jogged over to the door and rattled the handle. It was locked, of course, but that didn't mean that she was trapped. In all actuality, there were still a lot of options that were available to her; all she had to do was pick one.

With a devious grin, she stepped to the right of the door. "Hey! England!" she called, curling her hands into fists and trying to sound innocent. "Could you come in here for a second?"

There was no reply. "Hello? Are you even there?" Apparently he wasn't, because the "country" didn't respond. "Okay," she said, sizing up the doorknob. "It's time for Plan B."

After slamming into the doorknob from various angles multiple times, Samantha had to conclude that Plan B, "Break the Doorknob," was out. "Damn," she said, going to the bed to think. "This is taking too long." _I hate being slow… _

She leaned back against the wall and blinked as the back of her neck connected with cool metal. Turning around introduced her nose to the window, which hurt, but she ignored the pain and got up eagerly, hunting for a lock. When she didn't see one, she grasped the base of the window firmly in two hands and heaved, straining to open it. It gave a squeal of protest and slid up a few millimeters. She groaned; she wasn't very strong at all, to understate it, but this was just embarrassing. "I am _not _going to be beaten by a window," she growled, grabbing the base again and jerking upwards as hard as she could.

The window slid again, a couple more millimeters, and she groaned aloud, flopping back on the bed. Her skinny arms were aching, and she doubted that she was going to be able to get the stupid window open any farther than it already was. It sounded as if the thing hadn't been used in years. Muttering a string of unprintable expletives under her breath, she closed her eyes and concentrated. _Think, Samantha, think! There's got to be a way out of this room… right?_

A thought occurred to her, and she got to her feet, crossing the plush carpeting to the cupboard set up against one of the garish pink walls. Maybe there would be something in it that she could use. She grasped one of the wooden handles and pulled it open to reveal a mostly-empty wardrobe stashed with cardboard boxes. With a sigh, she knelt down and opened the first one, reaching inside. Her hand closed against something egg-shaped, and she pulled it out wonderingly. For a moment, she just stared at the grenade she'd pulled from the box, but then shrugged her shoulders and grinned.

"I don't know what kind of a psycho leaves grenades in his wardrobe," she said, reaching in and grabbing a handful, "but they just made Samantha Quarius very happy indeed."

She crossed to the door, looking down at the first grenade. It was clutched in one of her hands; its fellows were currently residing in the pockets of her black leather jacket. She'd never thrown a grenade before, but honestly, how hard could it be? Holding the grenade up to her mouth, she grasped the pin in between her teeth and yanked it out, counting to three in her head before tossing it and stepping back hastily.

The resulting explosion knocked her off her feet, but she was back up in a minute, surveying the jagged hole she'd created in the door with pleasure. Splinters of wood and dust were everywhere, and she crunched through them to the door, crouching down and slipping through the hole easily.

"A-a-a-ahh…" She turned to see a trembling Italy pointing at the hole in the door. He was still wearing his dinner jacket and had another bowl of pasta in his hand. His face was hysterical; she'd have been in heaven if she'd only had a camera.

"Yep," she said, proudly, pulling out another grenade. "I have a grenade." Italy stared at the grenade, then at her face, and then back at the grenade. With a flourish, he tossed the pasta bowl over his head and grabbed his handkerchief, waving it in a clearly-practiced arc around his head.

"I surrender! I surrender! Don't kill me!"

She rolled her eyes. "As if I'd waste a grenade on you." She marched over to the cowering country, grabbing him by the arm. He flinched away at her touch, closing his eyes and screwing up his face as though he expected to be hit by a grenade at any moment. She shook her head. _Jeez, he really thinks I'd actually kill him. What kind of people are these countries, anyway?_

The thought made her cold. _No. I am NOT starting to believe these people. Nope. Nuh-uh. NO._

"C'mon, crazy," she said mildly, pulling Italy to his feet. "Let's go."

"Where?" Italy wailed.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted, starting forward. "I just need you as a shield." Italy winced.

"A shield? But I surrendered!"

"So I noticed," she muttered, trying to avoid being hit in the face by Italy's handkerchief, which he was now waving in her face hysterically. "And will you cut that out?"

"I'm sorry!" Italy cried.

"You don't sound very sorry…"

"I'M SORRY!"

"That's better."

The hallway ended in a flight of stairs. Samantha, who was unfortunately short, leaned on her tiptoes and wrapped one arm around Italy's neck. She was pretty sure that crime lords did the exact same thing on TV, and she wanted people to take her seriously, just like they took crime lords seriously. Well, she was pretty sure they took crime lords seriously. Some of the crime lords were actually pretty pathetic on her favorite TV shows, like Bobo the Killer Clown. He'd just been amusing… _Oh, right. I should really be paying attention to where I'm going right now._

Italy seemed to suddenly be happy, strangely enough. "You know, you're getting awfully close to my face, Miss Quarius!" he said.

She stared. "Yes. And?"

"And…" He turned his head before she could stop him, jerking his head forward. She gave a sharp squeal as his lips pressed firmly against her, wiping any escape plans completely out of her head. Pulling away with a gasp, she glared at Italy, who seemed to be in throes of happiness.

"I did it! Now you _have _to be in love with me, right?" He winked at her.

It was the wink that did it. "_What? _No I don't, you annoying little…" She trailed off. "Just shut up. Shut. Up."

"Okay, Miss Quarius!"

"Shut up!"

"Absolutely!"

"Oh my God… Be quiet, Italy, or whatever the hell your name is."

"Sure thing!"

"Augh!" she groaned, giving up. "You do realize that I have you in a chokehold and I'm holding a grenade, right?"

"Mm-hm!" Italy exclaimed.

"You are the weirdest person I've ever met…" She stopped talking at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Before she could take a step back, England shot up the stairs like a bullet, panting and taking deep breaths at the top of the stairs. He froze when he noticed Italy, Samantha, and the grenade.

"Um," he said, holding up his hands. "Am I… ahem… interrupting something?"

Samantha just looked at him. "Are you serious?" she managed, finally. "What is wrong with you people?"

"I kissed her!" Italy added.

England smiled. "Really? Good work, Italy! You might be close to winning this contest yet!"

"SHUT UP ABOUT THE FREAKING CONTEST!" Samantha screamed, now completely frustrated. To her gratification, everyone looked at her and shut their mouths. "Okay," she said, taking deep breaths and presenting the grenade to England. "Look. I've got a grenade. More in my jacket. So will you _please _get the hell out of my way so I can go home?"

England gulped audibly. "No need for it to come to that!" he said, backing up a pace. "Oh look, is that something behind you…?"

She rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious."

"I am! Oh look at all those teeth! Oh God, it's awful!"

She rolled her eyes again. "Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing behind me."

"Yes, there is."

"No there's not."

"Yes, there is."

"There's not! Look, I'll prove it to you," she said, letting Italy go and turning around. "See, there's nothing— oh, crap!" Italy had skipped over to England's side, and England was smiling triumphantly.

"Honestly," he admitted, "I simply can't believe you looked."

She glowered at him. "Congratulations," she said. "But I've still got a grenade." England looked at the grenade in question, and swallowed.

"You know what?" he said. "You're right. Let's go, Italy."

"Yeah!" Italy exclaimed. "We can get Germany!"

"Hey!" Samantha protested, but they were already hightailing down the stairs. Rolling her eyes and gritting her teeth, she chased after them.

England and Italy burst through a door at the bottom of the stairs. Seemingly by accident, the door slammed shut on Samantha's nose, and she yelped in pain and shoved it open with her shoulder, now actually mad. "_Hey!" _she yelled. "Stop running!" She was ignored. _Apparently England doesn't think I have the guts to throw this. Well, I don't, so I suppose he's right… These things kind of suck as bluffs. _

"Wait up!" she complained, but the two running figures didn't stop. They weren't even running; they were jogging, and England kept turning around and making stupid faces. "Stop with the faces!" she yelped, spurring England into making a purely ridiculous face. "That's not funny!" she wailed, and put on a burst of speed.

"Gotcha!" she said, triumphant, as she slammed into the two of them, knocking them all to the ground. They both squirmed but she was relentless, slamming one knee into both of their chests. "Hah!" she crowed. "You can't get away from me!"

England eyed the grenade in her hand nervously. "Say," he said. "You're not going to throw that at us, are you?"

Samantha rolled her eyes. "No," she said. "I'm not that evil— _what the hell are you doing, Italy?"_

"Your chest is so warm!" Italy said happily, pressing his head against her. "And soft, too," he added. "I'm very glad you're not flat chested!"

"AAAUUUGGGHHHH!" she screamed, jerking away and crossing her arms over her chest. "Pervert!"

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" A very muscular, very tall, and very angry-looking blonde man had banged open one of the doors in the hallway. He glared down at the three of them. All talking immediately ceased.

"Well?" he asked, quieter now that everyone had shut up. His blue eyes raked over all three of them, stopping on England. "England? Since when have you been here?"

"Italy let me in," England admitted. Italy gave the man a cheerful wave.

The man put a gloved hand to his forehead, as if this sort of incident happened frequently. "Moron," he muttered under his breath. His eyes suddenly fixed on Samantha, and to her surprise, a faint blush colored his cheeks. "Oh! You're the girl in the bet!"

"…Yes…." She growled, an immediate dislike taking over her.

"Right," the man said, clearly uncomfortable. "Well. I am Germany, by the way."

"Oh, no," she groaned. "Not another country."

"Well, I—hang on. Is that one of my grenades?"

"Oh. This is _yours_?"

"Yes," Germany said. "What are you doing with it?"

"Escaping?"

Germany gave her an odd look. "Escaping? What gave you the idea that you were a prisoner here?" He turned to the two other countries on the floor. "Italy? England?"

"I tied her up, just like you taught me!" Italy said, saluting.

Germany smacked his forehead. "You're supposed to get her to fall in love with you, not frighten the life out of her! What were you thinking, Italy, honestly?"

"Not much!" Italy said happily.

"So I see," Germany replied. "Look, Miss… Quarius, right?"

"You can call me Samantha, seeing as you've been so understanding," she said sarcastically.

Germany nodded. "Samantha. Italy honestly means well. He brought you here because he wants to win the bet, but you should stay in my house anyway. The other countries will be hunting for you, and you don't want the Allies on your tail."

"Hang on!" England said. "There's nothing wrong with the Allies!"

"I don't care," Samantha announced. "I'm going home anyway." She got to her feet, holding out the grenade threateningly. "If somebody doesn't show me the way out of this freakin' house on three, I'm throwing it. One."

"Don't be daft," England said. "You know you're not going to throw it."

"Really?" Samantha said coolly, hand moving to the pin. _Please don't tell I'm bluffing, please don't tell I'm bluffing… _"Two."

"Pasta!" Italy exclaimed.

"Three," she said, and failed to do anything. "Oh, hell!" she groaned, tossing the grenade on the floor and emptying her pockets of the rest of them. "I'm not going to blow you idiots up."

"I thought so," England said smugly.

"SHUT UP!" she screeched.

"Yessir."

For a moment, there was an unfortunate lack of anything to say. _I can't believe I just gave up all of those grenades, _Samantha thought, sad in spite of herself. _I'm an idiot. _She shuffled her feet. "So…"

"Well," Germany said. "I was working on a bit of a surprise for Samantha in my room, so I think I'll be going back to that." She blinked, surprised.

"Um," she said, not sure how to respond to someone actually being nice to her. "Thanks?"

Germany mumbled something unintelligible and slunk back into his room, cheeks flaming red. Italy watched him go. "He's not very good with women," he told Samantha confidentially. "Not like me!"

"I wouldn't say you were any good," Samantha said coldly. "You kidnapped me."

"Now, now," England said, smirking. "Play nicely, Samantha."

She glowered at him. "He kidnapped me!" she said again, for emphasis. "And you? You've been laughing at me this whole time! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Me?" England asked. "Not much. I just think you're pretty funny, that's all."

"Well, isn't that nice," she said. She was suddenly very, very tired; her explosive bursts of temper often did that to her. "Look," she said, yawning. "Don't tie me up. I'll stay in this stupid house."

"Really?" Italy asked, sounding excited. "Yay, that's good! We're going to have so much fun, Miss Quarius! First, we'll…"

"Shut up, Italy," she said mildly, and although he continued to ramble he turned around and wandered away, leaving her alone with England.

She looked at him coldly. "You heard me the first time, right?" she asked. "I'm going to stay in the bet. And it's only because I don't think I can actually get away from you people; I do _not _enjoy a bunch of psychos hitting on me, so don't get the wrong impression. And you have to give me what I want. That means _no more _tying me up."

England looked at her. "As the judge, I think that's reasonable," he decided. "So what do you want?"

She yawned, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes. "I want to go to sleep," she confessed.

"Alright," England said. "Your room's this way." He turned, walking back to the stairs, and she followed him quietly. By the time they reached the smashed door the world was spinning; everything she'd done in the few minutes she'd been awake had left her really exhausted. To her surprise, England said nothing about her door; he simply sighed and opened it, stepping into her room. She looked at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be leaving now?" she hedged.

"No," England replied. "As the judge, I stick with you at all times. I'm not leaving you alone anymore; who knows what you'll do…"

"So you're going to be my super-stalker?" she asked. "That's nice, I suppose. Are there any girl clothes in this house, by any chance?"

England shrugged. "Not my house."

"Right." Sighing, she unzipped her jacket and pulled it off before laying it tenderly on the top of Germany's grenade wardrobe. "Touch my jacket and you die," she warned England, pulling out of her combat boots. "And the same goes for the boots."

"Touchy," England noted, watching her.

"Quit watching," she snapped, her cheeks flaming. She was only wearing a black tank top and jeans now, and she couldn't help it; he was cute, he was in her room, and she was taking off articles of clothing. The blushing really couldn't be avoided. "And turn around." England shrugged delicately, doing as she'd told him, and she pulled off the jeans and whipped off her bra as quickly as possible before running for the bed and burying herself under the blankets. "You can turn around now!" she said. The country started to turn, noticed her pants on the floor, and froze, turning very pale.

"Oh God," he exclaimed. "You're not _naked _under there, are you?"

"No!" she yelled, burrowing farther under the blankets. _Ugh, this is really awkward. _

England seemed to notice the awkwardness too, because he turned away from her, snatching a random German magazine lying on her bedside table and sitting with his back against the wall, quickly being absorbed. This would be nice, if the lights weren't boring into Samantha's eyes. "Hey, England," she said. "Turn off the lights."

England took a while to respond. "No," he said finally, not looking up from the magazine.

Despite the fact that she was exhausted and all she wanted to do was sleep, Samantha's temper immediately rose to the surface. "No? I'm trying to sleep, asshole."

England looked up from the magazine. "Quit being such a prick," he said. "I'm trying to read."

She glared at him. "If you're going to follow me everywhere you're gonna have to play by my rules," she said. He sighed.

"But your rules are clearly going to suck," he complained.

She grinned. "You don't know the meaning of the word, my friend," she said. "Now turn off the lights." Grumbling, England got to his feet, crossing over to the light switch and flipping it, plunging the pink room into darkness punctured only by dim light leaking through the hole in the door.

"There," England exclaimed. "Satisfied?"

"Absolutely," Samantha said, closing her eyes. "And don't do anything perverted while I'm sleeping."

"I would never!" England exclaimed. "Don't be disgusting!"

"Sure," she mumbled, sleep catching her in its claws. She yawned loudly, clearly ending the conversation, and closed her eyes against the faint but persistent glow from the blown-up door, allowing herself to spiral deeper and deeper until she wasn't awake at all.

* * *

><p>Jeremy glanced at the pictures that J1234 _567 had sent him and chuckled to himself.<p>

He was Japanese, and _boy _was he hot. He had a girly sort of atmosphere about him, one that Jeremy found infinitely attractive. The boy had even hedged that he might be willing to give up his name soon. Jeremy hoped that he was going to; he'd told his online boyfriend his real name _ages _ago and he'd like to have the favor returned.

He was chatting with him again. He found that his favorite part of the day was when he could chat with J1234 _567, or, as he'd nicknamed him, "Japanese Boy." It was 1:30 in the morning and he had school tomorrow, and yet he was still chatting, and having the time of his life.

_**So… **_Japanese Boy wrote. _**Do you want to hear about the fate of your friend Samantha? I just got an update from the judge.**_

_**Lol yeah, **_Jeremy replied. _**She wasn't in school today. Having too much fun wit her new "friends?"**_

_**Actually, **_Japanese Boy responded, _**she's in Germany.**_

Jeremy frowned at the screen for a minute. _**Umm, **_he wrote, finally. _**Germany? What?**_

_**One of my friends kidnapped her, **_Japanese Boy explained patiently. _**I don't know how to say this, exactly… **_

_**What the hell do you mean? What's going on!**_

_**I don't know how to explain...**_ Japanese Boy responded. _**You live in New York City, right?**_

_**Yes.**_

_**Good. I'm visiting with one of my… friends in the area right now. Maybe we should meet up.**_

_**Meet up?**_

_**Yes. At the Tea Shop on the corner of Chambers and 51**__**st**__** Street. They have very good tea.**_

_**I mean, I guess we could, **_Jeremy typed. _**This is so weird… And I swear, if Samantha gets hurt…**_

_**She won't, **_Japanese boy wrote. _**My friends are all idiots. They couldn't hurt her.**_

_**They better not… What time?**_

_**Ten.**_

_**KK. **_Jeremy logged out of the chat room without saying goodbye. He was pissed off, to say the least. What had Japanese Boy been saying? Something about Germany and Samantha? _She'd better be okay, _Jeremy thought, clenching his hands into fists. _I may not be strong but I'll whip anyone who touches my best friend. Unless they mean it in a sexy way. Because she seriously needs some action._ He crossed his darkened room to his bed and flopped down, eyes still glowing from the light of the computer screen. Yawning, he rubbed his watering eyes before forcing them closed. _I should sleep. I'll find Samantha in the morning. Heh, I'm not going to school! _He grinned.

_Looks like this adventure was worth it after all._

* * *

><p>Samantha sighed, turning over under the covers. It was now uncomfortably hot, especially since someone was snuggled up next to her, making her even hotter than usual… Wait a minute…<p>

"ITALY!" she screamed, wriggling away from him. The country was asleep, but even so he managed to snake an arm around her waist and press his head into her flat stomach, making happy humming sounds. "AUUGGHHH!" she groaned, pushing his head away. He snorted, blinked sleepily and awoke, looking at her in confusion.

"What?" he asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Get out," she said, voice trembling with rage. "Now." Italy looked disappointed, but he slipped out of bed and padded away through the hole in the door, wearing only an unbuttoned button-down and a pair of cotton underwear. Samantha grimaced.

"I better still be a virgin, England," she said, not even looking at him.

"What? Don't be ridiculous, I wouldn't have let him go that far."

"One would assume," she said, laying back down in bed and staring at the ceiling. "Why are the lights on? Did you turn them on while I was asleep?"

"Maybe," England said evasively, flipping through the pages of his German magazine.

"Can you even read German?" Samantha asked, curious in spite of herself. England looked at her, tossing away the magazine.

"To be totally honest… I don't know a word of it," he admitted. "Bloody hard language to master."

She lapsed into silence, still looking up at the ceiling. "How long is this bet again?" she asked.

"Three months," England answered promptly. "You'll just have to deal with all of us till then."

She groaned. "Typical. No school for three months. I'm going to be failing all of my classes."

"Not if you tell them you were kidnapped," England pointed out, wisely. "Then they'll feel bad for you."

"Words of wisdom," Samantha said sarcastically. "I don't know where you've been all my life."

"Well, I'm a few thousand years older than you, so I _would _be wiser, wouldn't I?"

"No," Samantha said. "You'd be senile." England snorted.

"Well, if I'm senile you're a baby. An annoying, whiny little baby that the rest of us have to take care of."

"Ouch," she said. "That one really cut me to the core, England. You've broken me on the inside." He rolled his eyes.

"Just be quiet and be a good prisoner or something," he ordered, retrieving his magazine.

"I thought I wasn't a prisoner anymore?"

"Just be quiet, then."

"You're the one reading the magazine, not me, smart stuff."

"Smart stuff? Is that a legitimate insult?"

"It is now, smart stuff."

England sighed. "Are you always this annoying, or are you just having fun annoying somebody who's never had to deal with you before?"

Samantha thought about the question. "That's a good one," she admitted. "I'm pretty sure I'm always like this, though." England sighed.

"My life is going to suck for the next three months, isn't it?" Samantha smiled a shark's toothy, sadistic grin.

"Oh yeah," she said. "Compared to your life for the next few months, mine is going to be a piece of cake."

England groaned, and Samantha grinned. At least one part of the next few months was going to be very. very fun.


	3. Getting Drunk is for Amateurs

**Wee! Chapter three! I'm excited! Are _you _excited?**

**...**

**Of course!**

**Well, that's my ego speaking. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Guess what, dudes?" America asked.<p>

Russia tried not to groan. America's tongue kept on flapping away, filling the room with idle chatter that the giant country simply didn't appreciate. Besides, his patience was already wearing thin. Ever since he'd been tricked into signing on to that hellish bet, Belarus had tried to kill him at least twenty times for "not being faithful" and he still couldn't find the human girl! To make matters worse, it appeared that the Baltic countries had signed on to the bet as well, except for little Latvia. Russia didn't like competition.

"_Da_, America?" he asked pleasantly, sitting comfortably on his chair. The other former Allies were seated around a table on which lay a map of the world, covered in bright red marker and emblazoned with the words, "Where the F*** Is Samantha Quarius?" courtesy of America.

"I was just chilling out with Japan," America said, "and he was all like, 'oh no, I have to go meet my friend!', so I was like, 'Dude, why?' and he was like, 'Don't you know it's rude to ask personal questions like that? This whole situation is highly embarrassing for me' and then he ran away."

"What is the point to this story, America?" France growled. He was in a horrific mood; not only did he now have to focus his love on one particular person, but she was nowhere to be found. It was enough to drive France insane.

America laughed obnoxiously. "Well then he left, and his computer was open, so I checked it, and guess what? He was chatting with some guy about Samantha!"

The room was suddenly quiet. Everyone was staring daggers at America. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "What, guys?"

"Where is she?" China snapped. "You are so immature, America."

"She's in Germany!" America exclaimed happily. Everyone groaned.

"Oh God, not Germany!" France lamented, putting his head in his hands. "I _hate _Germany!"

"I don't know," Russia said. "I think Germany is kinda nice." Everyone glared at him, and he chuckled. Everyone immediately stopped glaring and looked away, sweating and grimacing. Russia had no idea why everyone did that when he laughed, maybe it was some kind of respectful gesture? Russia certainly liked the idea of that! Russia got to his feet, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Let's go get her, _da_?"

"Yeah!" America crowed, punching the air with his fist. "C'mon, China!"

"You always make me do your dirty work for you," China mumbled, standing up along with France. America continued jumping around and generally making a fool of himself. Russia smiled.

With these idiots on his side, Samantha wouldn't hesitate to become one with him.

* * *

><p>"I'm not wearing that," Samantha said.<p>

"Yes you are!" Italy sang, waving the frilly pink dress in Samantha's face. She shook her head.

"No, Italy," she said firmly. "I think it's great that you made me pasta and a dinner and everything, but I'm not putting on that dress."

Italy's eyes filled with tears. "But it would make you look so pretty!" he wailed, sobbing into her mattress. She looked down at him coolly.

"What? Am I too ugly for you, pasta boy?"

"Well, you're certainly not amazing," England chipped in. Samantha turned to him, a death glare etched onto her face.

"Wanna say that again?" she threatened, rolling up one of her sleeves. England eyed her arm and swallowed.

"I was just saying how lovely you'd look in that dress," he squeaked quickly. She smirked.

"That's what I thought you were saying… Italy, what are you doing?" The Italian had run to the broken door and was now yelling as loud as he could down the stairs.

"GERMANY! GERRMAANNYYY!"

"WHAT?"

"I NEED YOUR HELP!" Despite the fact that he was a floor below her, Samantha could have sworn she heard Germany's annoyed sigh. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the German poked his blonde head through the hole in the door with a sigh.

"What do you need, Italy?" he asked resignedly. Italy pointed a trembling finger at Samantha.

"She won't put on her dress!" he wailed, eyes welling up again. Germany looked at her and sighed deeply.

"Look, Samantha," he said, ducking into the room. "Could you put on the dress? He'll be like this all day unless you do it."

Samantha wrinkled her nose and poked the dress with a finger. "No," she said stubbornly. Italy wailed.

Germany growled, putting a hand to his temple. "Samantha…" he said warningly.

"Make me," she hissed, scooting away from the dress. The three males both jumped slightly, as though they had all gotten an idea at the exact same time.

"I'll hold her down," England said evilly, cracking his knuckles.

"I guess I'll pull on the dress," Germany said, cheeks turning pink.

"I'll stand here and watch!" Italy said happily.

Samantha made it about two paces before England brought her down. "Get off me, bastard!" she shrieked, but it was to no avail.

"Stop… _struggling,_" the nation exclaimed, sliding on top of her and pinning her down with his legs.

"Help me!" Samantha screamed. "Rape! RAPE!"

"Shut up," England groaned.

She realized that Germany was sliding the dress over her head, and continued to thrash, even though she knew it was hopeless. She felt the fabric sliding over her tank top and wriggled, trying to free herself, but it was too late. England was pulling her arms through the sleeves, and suddenly she was wearing something she'd never thought she'd wear: a pink dress. A _frilly _pink dress.

She got to her feet shakily. "I hate you guys," she muttered, going to sit on her bed. "And this dress," she added.

"But you look so nice!" Italy said. "Just take off that tank top underneath and it will be perfect!"

She sighed, rolling her eyes and pulling the tank top from underneath her dress, crumpling it into a ball and hurling it at Italy's fat head. The country gave a squeal and ducked for cover, and she smirked slightly.

"Well," England said. "Now that you aren't wearing that ridiculous clothing, you don't look half as horrendous." She shot him a look and he shut up, miraculously.

Germany cleared his throat. "You look… ahem… very nice," he mumbled, cheeks redder than a boiled lobster. Samantha looked at him; he might have been somewhat scary to the other countries, but he seemed to be very awkward around girls. She grinned; she could exploit that later, if necessary. Germany caught the grin and turned even redder, hurrying out of the room.

"Alright, Italy," she said, yawning and stretching. The damn dress moved with her, riding up to her thighs, and she growled at it, crossing her legs hastily. "Take me to your stupid pasta."

"_Bene_!" Italy shouted, jumping up and grabbing her around the waist, nuzzling his forehead against hers. "This will be so much fun, no?"

She glared at him. Their proximity made his suddenly nervous eyes at least twice as big, and probably magnified her enraged ones at least twenty times. "No… nuzzling," she said, through gritted teeth. Italy quailed.

"Sorry, Samantha," he said, hanging his head. She sighed.

"The puppy dog eyes won't work on me, buddy," she said. "Now quit acting all depressed. I'm wearing this dress, aren't I?"

"Right!" Italy said, suddenly happy again. She rolled her eyes; the nation really was bipolar. "Come on!" he sang, pulling her along with the arm still around her waist. He was wearing his dinner jacket again, she realized. This whole situation was very, very awkward. Her cheeks turned a slight pink before she could stop them, and she glared at England when he chuckled.

"You're so funny," she muttered to him, sarcastically, of course. He nodded slowly.

"I suppose I am rather amusing," he said, and she rolled her eyes. They were really starting to hurt from all the eye-rolls she'd had to do in the past few hours. And she still had three months left with these psychos. And that was only if she didn't get kidnapped by _other _psychos who were also apparently after her.

_At least I'll have that annoying asshole England with me, _she thought. _I suppose that's better than nothing. _

She hadn't been paying attention, but Italy had dragged her to a room in the house with a table in the center, the shades drawn to create mood lighting, apparently. Candles were everywhere, which seemed like a fire hazard, and there was the most delicious-looking pasta meal on the center of the table that Samantha had ever seen in her life. Samantha's stomach growled and she licked her lips.

"Paassttaa…" she and Italy said, staggering towards the deliciousness on the table. England wrinkled his nose in disgust, giving Samantha a cheerful nod.

"Call me if he does anything awkward," England said. "I'll be waiting outside."

"Sure, whatever," Samantha said, pulling up a chair. "Oh yeah… I swear to God, if I need you and you're not there, I'll punch the living daylights out of you."

"So you're admitting that you need me?" England mused. She frowned.

"I'm not admitting anything," she said. "Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law."

England cocked his head. "What?"

"Oh, right," Samantha realized. "That's an American thing…" At the name "America," England winced.

"Stupid little brother," he muttered, closing the door and leaving Samantha alone with Italy and the pasta.

She realized that the little pig had already begun eating, shoveling pasta into his mouth with a fork and making happy eating sounds. He glanced up at Samantha, half a strand of pasta dangling from his mouth. "Dndyouwnnsm?"

"Huh?"

Italy swallowed. "Don't you want some?" he asked, looking hurt.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Of course I do, pasta boy," she said, stabbing a tomato viciously with her fork and bringing it to her lips. It tasted quite good, actually. Trying to keep an expression of delight off of her face, she scarfed down the meal in seconds flat, leaning against the table and making happy noises when she was finished. Very out of character for her, but damn, Italy was a good cook.

"You liked it!" Italy exclaimed. He'd finished too, she realized. "_Bene_! I'm so happy!"

"I'm sure you are," Samantha said, good mood evaporating as quickly as the taste of pasta in her mouth. Italy didn't seem to notice this, as he was reaching behind his chair for a guitar.

"I wrote you a song!" the nation exclaimed, strumming the guitar experimentally. Samantha went white.

"A… song?" she asked. Nobody had ever written her a song before. Of course, the warm fuzzy feeling vanished when she remembered that he was really only doing it because he had to. _I wonder what the penalty is, anyway, _she thought. _I really have to ask England about this whole bet._

_"Samantha," _Italy began, closing his eyes and singing lustily, or at least what he imagined sounded lusty. Samantha squirmed in her seat, dress suddenly uncomfortable. _This is so awkward, _she complained mentally. _Please let this be a really, really short song…_

Apparently it wasn't, because Italy's fingers were moving along the guitar strings in a complicated way.

_"Samantha,_" he sang again.

_"You are so pretty,_

_And funny,_

_Even though you've tried to kill me seven times!_

_You aren't ugly,_

_Like England says you are!_

_And you're nice and cuddly when you're asleeeeep!"_

"WHAT?"

_"You get real angry,_

_And rage-y,_

_But I bet you're nice inside that nasty shell!_

_So will you please please please please please be my girlfriend_

_So I don't have to be a prostitute for old people? Yahoo!" _With a flourish, Italy bowed and slung the guitar back over his shoulder, placing it gently behind his chair. "Did you like it?" Italy asked, looking excited. She opened her mouth to respond, but Italy jumped. "Wait, I drew a picture of you too!" He fished around behind his chair and yanked out a large-looking canvas, running over excitedly to show Samantha.

She felt her cheeks turning pink, despite the fact that she always did her best not to blush. "Italy…" she said, slowly. "WHY THE HELL AM I NAKED?"

Italy flinched away. "It's the Italian tradition! Please don't hurt me!"

"How is _this_," Samantha asked, jabbing a thumb at the picture of her lying on a couch with a pair of grapes dangling in front of her cheek, bare to the world and a lot curvier than she actually was, "Italian?"

Italy shrugged. "I'm a good artist, no?" he asked, changing the subject. She groaned.

"Wonderful, Italy," she grumbled, snatching the canvas and turning it face down, making a mental note to burn the thing as soon as possible. Not that it wasn't flattering, but if someone like England ever managed to see it her life would be over.

She squirmed, pressing the painting down into her lap. "Well, this has been fun…" she began, but trailed off as Italy whipped out a box of chocolates, and what looked suspiciously like red wine. "Well, I'm a minor…" she began, but he poured the wine in her glass anyway, ignoring her protestations.

"Wine is _molto bene!_" he exclaimed, taking a healthy swig from his own glass. _"Perfetto!" _

Samantha plucked up the slim stem of the glass with her thumb and forefinger, tentatively taking a sip. It burned on the way down her throat, but if she stopped drinking now Italy would have one-upped her. That would just be embarrassing. Grimacing, she swallowed the whole glass in one gulp, slamming it back on the table when she was finished.

Italy glanced at her. "You drink like Russia!" he said. "No worries though, I have more!" He giggled, pouring another dose of cherry-red wine in her glass. She groaned mentally, snatching the glass and pouring it all down her throat. There was a strange ringing in her ears as she slammed the glass on the table. Suddenly she was having a lot more fun than before. It felt like she was on top of the world, in fact. Now what had changed? Eh, it didn't matter. "Hit… me," she gasped, smiling weakly. _Why am I acting like this? Oh well, it's not as if I'm drunk or anything… hee hee hee._

Italy laughed, pouring her another glass. This time she only managed to take a few sips before collapsing in her chair, spilling the wine all over the table. For some reason, she found this hysterically funny, and burst out laughing, slapping her hand against the table cloth. "Spilled… I'm so clumsy… Hahaha!"

Italy laughed too, hiccupping and slumping against the wine bottle, knocking it over. At the sight of so much wine on the table both of them immediately went into hysterics, falling out of their chairs and rolling around on the floor. Italy was the first to recover, and he crawled towards Samantha on hands and knees before collapsing next to her. "You're so pretty… Yahoo!"

"Shut up, Italy!" she giggled, kicking her legs. Her painting had fallen onto the floor next to her, and at the sight of it she gave a screech of laughter that nearly brought up all the pasta in her stomach. "Ah God," she moaned, still laughing. "I think I'm gonna hurl."

"Me too!" Italy laughed, crawling off to do whatever it was he was about to do behind a chair. Samantha was in a daze; who knew you could get drunk so quickly after… was it two or three glasses? She honestly couldn't remember, ha ha!

She could hear knocking on the door. It sounded frantic… Who could that be? Stuffy old England, probably! "Englann!" she slurred, waving her hands like the drunken maniac she was. "Come in, dude!"

The door burst open and a disheveled-looking England took in the scene. He smacked his forehead. "Good God, did you get her drunk, Italy?" he complained; crossing over to Samantha and kneeling at her side. "She's a minor, you idiot!"

"Whaaa?" Italy asked innocently, smiling at England.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "I'm nah drunk!" she giggled, waving her hands again. "…Lookame!"

"If it wouldn't be completely hypocritical of me I'd be warning you about the dangers of drinking," England said sternly. Samantha realized dimly that he was wrapping a hand around her waist, and blushed. _England's trying to flirt with me? Ha-ha, I can do that too! _

"You're so seeeeeexy, England," she joked, pawing at the flat stomach underneath his shirt. England's bushy eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he tossed her over his shoulder grimly, cherry red. Samantha pouted.

"Lemmego!" she wailed, trying to kick her legs. A wave of nausea took over her and she stopped moving, hanging from the country's shoulder limply. She felt England take a sharp breath.

"Samantha? Are you alright? Good God, woman, answer me!" When she didn't respond, he smacked her lightly on the cheek a few times, which got on her nerves enough for her to open her mouth.

"Stoppit," she complained. She felt England sighing in relief, and he began to walk again.

"You're an idiot," he lectured. She wasn't really listening; the ringing in her ears was sort of starting to hurt, and her stomach kept on rolling back and forth. She had the feeling that she was going to hurl any minute, which would be funny because then she'd vomit all over England! She gave a short hiccup punctuated laugh which she cut short as acid began to rise in the back of her throat.

"… and you should never drink again if you know what's good for you," England finished. She groaned, flopping her arms and legs. England was so _boring_.

"Yurr so boring," she complained. He sighed.

"Shut up, will you?" he asked mildly. She could hear him opening a door and suddenly they were stepping into a darkness which was punctuated as England flipped on the lights. Samantha groaned as he dropped her onto her bed. She felt the acid rising in her throat and turned over; vomiting until she thought there was nothing left in her system.

"Ahh," she moaned, falling back in bed and somehow avoiding the vomit patch, thank the heavens. She heard England sigh.

"I'm going to have to clean that up, little moron," he said. She tried to think of a snappy retort but when she opened her mouth more vomit came out before she could stop it. This time it got all over Italy's dress, but she was too disorientated to care. It's not as if she would have cared anyway, but still.

"Stop that!" England exclaimed. "You're only making things worse for me, you know." Samantha made a weak sound and twitched a bit, rather like a fish. She heard England sigh. "Stop with the sounds," he ordered. She made another, weaker sound as he pressed the rim of something against her lips. "It's water. You're probably going to vomit it up… There you go."

The last session of vomiting left her so weak that all she could do was move her head listlessly. The light from the overhead was burning into her skull, but she was afraid to open her mouth to ask the country to turn off the friggin' light. She whimpered as something grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her up. "I'm taking you to the bathroom," England narrated. "Maybe you can sleep in there or something…"

She nearly puked while she was in his arms, but managed to hold it in until he'd arranged her at the base of the toilet. He sighed as she clutched the rim with white-knuckled fingers, eyes shut and mouth gaping. "That is disgusting, to be honest. And your dress is simply _covered _in it." She turned her head to him with an imploring look. His cheeks immediately flamed.

"What? Are you asking me to take it off? No, I'm not going to…" Another round of vicious puking cut him off. He bit his lip and fidgeted slightly, probably trying to fight against his knight in shining armor instincts and failing miserably. "Oh, all right," he growled, crossing over to her and pulling her next to him. "Quit falling over so much. And you'd better be wearing something under there." Samantha was pretty sure the only thing she had on was a bra and a pair of panties, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

She felt him sliding the dress over her head, and heard him give a slight exclamation at her lack of sufficient clothing. "Ah! Err… Ahem. I'll be getting you some clothing!" His voice was an octave higher than usual, and she heard him beating a hasty retreat. With a sigh, she pressed her cheek against the cool of the toilet bowl. What had happened again? She felt her cheeks fill, and reluctantly emptied them into the toilet, the sloshy sounds emanating from it nearly making her vomit again.

"Bleggh," she groaned, clenching her fists. "Ugh."

"I'm back…" England announced. "Are you still… mostly unclothed? Never mind, here are your clothes." She felt a wad of fabric hit her in the back, but she wasn't about to move and get it. She could hear England tapping his foot and then sighing, annoyed. "I never expected that my job would have me working as a nanny," he complained, kneeling next to her. "I'm sorry in advance for anything I see or touch that I shouldn't have," he added quickly, pulling her mostly unresponsive form towards him. She felt him lifting up her arms and pulling her black tank top over her slim form. She sighed, flopping into his chest. She heard him sigh too before gently pushing her off and curling her around the base of the toilet. She heard him walking away, but he came back a few moments later, pulling her onto a blanket and dropping her head on a pillow. Her stomach gurgled and she clenched her fists, biting her lip.

"I'll be going, then," England said. "I guess I'll be checking up on you…" The light in the bathroom clicked off, and she heard his footsteps padding away. For a moment she felt a pang of hurt, but it was quickly drowned out by the copious amount of vomit forcing its way up her throat.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Jeremy liked the smell of tea, so when he stepped into the Tea Shop he was in immediate heaven. He smiled and stopped, inhaling as much tea as he could. <em>Yum. If this is what Japanese Boy is into, he definitely has good taste. My kind of guy. <em>

He glanced through the small dark shop absently, trying to discern the face of his online boyfriend. There was a fat guy and his fat girlfriend, some guy that looked like a rapist, Japanese Boy, an old lady… Japanese Boy!

"Hey!" Jeremy called waving like a maniac. Japanese Boy glanced up, pale white cheeks flushing a rosy red. Jeremy grinned wider; that was really cute. "What's up?" he asked, weaving through table to sit down at the table for two that Japanese Boy was currently occupying.

Japanese Boy smiled faintly. "I, em… Nothing. Nothing is up. How about you… bro?"

Jeremy laughed. "Who told you to say that? Whoever they were, they're an idiot. Gay guys do _not _call each other bro. Unless they're really only just friends, of course," he added thoughtfully.

Japanese Boy turned even brighter red. "I am sorry," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "My friend America said it would please you. I apologize."

"No! No, it's fine!" Jeremy exclaimed. Japanese Boy certainly was… Japanese. "Hey," he said. "What's your name, anyway?"

Japanese Boy cracked open one eye. "It is a part of my story," he said. "Still, I suppose… I am Japan."

Jeremy looked at him blankly. "Japan. Who in the hell would name their son _Japan_?"

"It's a long story!" Japan said defensively. He put a hand to his temple and inhaled deeply through his nose. "Where do I begin…? I suppose I should start with the bet…" Jeremy leaned forward, inhaling the musky scent of the tea.

"Tell me everything," he said, with a final tone. "Leave nothing out."

Japan swallowed. "Yes," he said, and he told Jeremy everything.


End file.
